Molly's Lily

Molly, you've got to

put your saddle on tight.

You've a red, red runner

for your final flight.

You're my only sister,

but a price is a price,

and he's not going lower

than my sister's life.

Would that I may go with you,

but a rule is a rule,

and the red, red rascal

is no sister's fool.

In the Putnam meadow

grows a poison lily,

if I were a smart girl,

I would take it with me.

So she's taken her dress up,

and she's tied back her hair

with a winsome ribbon

such as never were,

and she looked as brazen

as the scalded sea,

when the sun rips its favors

into morning's peace.

She's an auburn woman

on mahogany mare,

she was dressed full bloody

for the devil's despair.

And it was no lily

for his cardamom lips,

but for girl and filly,

and for hooves and hips.

All the plants in Putnam

grow a venomous green.

It was milk and money

made the meadows mean.

There she's taken her flower,

and she's borne it away,

under nettled fingers

that she daren't display.

From the Ipswich river,

riding easterly

to the black oak sapling,

where three fences meet,

and she knows he's waiting,

and she's down from her horse,

and per their agreement,

she is walking backwards.

Cloven hoofprints pressing

in a ravenous reel,

it's a phantom tarries

at her heart and her heel.

And with each foot stepping,

there's a petal has gone

from a noxious blooming

to a maidenly tongue.

Did the devil take her?

Did the devil decide

on a red carnation

or a red-blooded bride?

He's been up her ankle,

and he's taken his treat,

and he's eaten apples

full of poison lily.

Satan wears a flower

like a dandy heathen,

it's a fairer lily

than the one that she gave him.

He's a rowdy rascal

with a hearty complexion--

it's the very color

of a lily stamen.